


Never Gonna Tear Us Apart

by Paraprosdokia (ChangeableConsistency)



Series: I Will Wait for You [4]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Anal Sex, BDSM, Begging, Blow Jobs, Caning, Clothed Dom/Naked Sub, Cock Warming, Come Marking, Dirty Talk, Dom Phil Coulson, Facials, Forced Orgasm, Jealousy, M/M, Marking, Mind Control, Nipple Play, Nude Photos, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Phone/Video Sex, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Safewords, Shibari, Sort Of, Spanking, Sub Clint Barton, Vanilla Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:56:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23663500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChangeableConsistency/pseuds/Paraprosdokia
Summary: This is basically just porn set in the I Will Wait for You ‘verse. Each chapter is a completed story and can be read as a standalone fic.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Series: I Will Wait for You [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1580395
Comments: 46
Kudos: 136





	1. Two Worlds Collided

**Author's Note:**

> Well I came home  
> Like a stone  
> And I fell heavy into your arms  
> These days of dust  
> Which we've known  
> Will blow away with this new sun  
> — Mumford and Sons: I will wait for you
> 
> I told you  
> That we could fly  
> 'Cause we all have wings  
> But some of us don't know why  
> — INXS: Never Tear Us Apart

“Barton! Stop flirting with the probies and get your ass to the tarmac,” Phil says from the open observation deck one level above the gym. He’s been watching from the shadows, as entranced as the rest as Barton finishes up his pre-mission work out, and had almost lost track of time. 

“What’s the matter, Coulson. Jealous?”

“Wildly,” Phil deadpans, though his heart pounds and he wants nothing more than to leap down and Claim Clint for all to see, “Wheels up in twenty.”

“Sir, yes sir!” In anyone else it would sound respectful, but Barton manages to use the same tone to sound patronizing. 

“I swear to God, I will let them leave without you,” he says. 

“They can’t leave without me, it’s my mission.”

“Don't test me, Barton,” Phil says as he walks away, as if that isn’t exactly what Barton’s trying to do. 

“Yes, sir,” Clint says with as much insolence as he can manage, which is quite a lot, while giving Coulson a sloppy salute, two fingers waved vaguely near his forehead, his other hand continuing to support him on the balance beam. He steps backwards into a handspring and dismounts with a simple backflip with a half twist. 

The pre-agents gather around him, “You’re so… flexible,” one of the subs says, biting her lip and holding out his water bottle.

“Just how flexible are you, Agent Barton?” A dom asks as he hands Clint a towel, eyeing him up and down.

Clint tilts his head back, exposing the long line of his throat as he takes a slow, lingering swallow of the water. He can feel Coulson watching from the shadows; he knows his dom won’t have gone far. He steps past the probie, so close they almost touch, and grins roguishly as he makes eye contact and says in a voice filled with false promises, pitched to carry to the upper level, “Very.”

He finishes drying the sweat from his chest and grabs his black turtleneck. There’s more than one sigh of disappointment as he puts it on and damn if that isn’t good for the ego, “I’ll have to show you another time, though. Captain Killjoy’s right, I’ve got a plane to catch.”

~~~

They’re barely through the safe house door, their gear dropped to the floor, when Phil grabs Clint by the hair, twisting it to hold Clint’s head in place, Phil’s other hand cups Clint’s neck, his thumb resting in the hollow of Clint’s throat. He takes Clint’s mouth in a vicious, uncompromising kiss and Clint moans, deep and needy. Phil presses his knee between Clint’s legs and Clint starts to ride his thigh. 

When Phil finally lets them up for air, biting at Clint’s lip he orders, “Knees,” already dragging Clint down by his hair and Clint goes oh so willingly. Clint has Phil’s dick out of his pants almost as quickly as he’s on the floor but before Clint can get his mouth on him Phil pulls his head back, “Hands behind your back. Eyes on me.”

“Oh, fuck. Yes, Sir,” Clint says, crossing his wrists in the small of his back and staring up into Phil’s eyes as he takes Phil into his mouth.

He sucks as he pushes his mouth down, Phil doesn’t loosen his hold on Clint’s hair or give him and leeway to move and so Clint has to pull his own hair against Phil’s grip and he can feel his dick leak and throb. He moves his head up and down shallowly to start, slicking up Phil’s dick with his mouth, massaging it with his tongue as he pulls back and sucking as he goes down. 

His eyes flutter shut when his nose is finally buried in Phil’s tight dark curls, Phil’s dabbed a bit of his custom cologne there, just for Clint. He moans around the dick in his throat and it wants to stay there until he’s more desperate for air than he is for Phil, which may not be possible, when Phil’s yanks Clint back leaving Clint’s lips shiny and wet. He growls, “What did I say?”

“Eyes on you, Sir. Sorry, Sir,” Clint says, panting as he looks up at him, “You just smell so fucking good.”

“It happens again and you’ll lose that spanking you’ve earned.”

“No,” he whimpers, “I’ll be good.”

“Yes. You will,” and then Phil pulls Clint’s head back into place. 

Even though he wants to close his eyes and get lost in the scent and feel of Phil, he knows after his teasing earlier and the long flight where Phil had (mostly) kept his hands to himself that Phil needs the reassurance of knowing Clint is his and his alone; and that Clint feels the same way.

Clint works his tongue up and down Phil’s shaft, letting Phil’s dick smear saliva and precome on his face before sucking him down again, sparks of pleasure/pain race down his spine when he pulls his hair and chokes off his breath with Phil’s dick again. 

He lets Phil slip out of his mouth and he kisses the tip and then the shaft, whispering, “Phil, Phil, Phil,” with each kiss, continuing to say his name as he looks up into Phil’s eyes and sucks him back down into his throat. 

It’s enough to finally snap Phil’s control and he grabs Clint’s head in both hands and fucks his mouth, “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

Clint moans in time with Phil’s thrusts and he feels his spit drip off his chin as Phil uses Clint’s mouth for his pleasure. Clint has to grab his wrists to keep from palming his own dick through his cargo pants and he feels like he’s going to come any second; he doesn’t know how Phil can keep going. The room starts to feel brighter and his skin tingles and he realizes he’s starting to slip Down.

He moans high and sweet, begging with his eyes for Phil to come and Phil is gone, pulling out and coming on Clint’s face, marking him. Clint keeps his mouth open and sticks out his tongue, chasing after the taste of Phil’s come.

He savors the bitter saltiness of it before swallowing and then deliberately pulls one hand from behind his back, leaving the other in place, he uses his thumb to gather up some of Phil’s come and suck it off slowly in the way he knows Phil loves to watch. He leaves his thumb resting on his lip and manages to smirk, breathlessly saying, “I knew you were jealous.”

“Wildly,” Phil says, pouring all his need and Hunger into his answer. He pulls Clint to his feet by his hair and licks his way into Clint’s mouth, “Bedroom. Now. Spanking.”

It makes Clint’s knees weak when Phil gets like this, “Oh,” he breathes, “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

Later, he’ll come up with a dozen more ways to bait Phil’s jealousy; for now all he can think about is belonging to Phil. 


	2. You Were There

His first thought is, _‘Holy Shit.’_

His second is, _‘Phil Coulson is the kinkiest motherfucker I’ve ever met.’_

His third is, _‘This is not what I was expecting.’_

And his last thought is, _‘Fuck this is amazing, don’t ever let it stop.’_

~~~

Phil Coulson doesn’t get nervous. If you take a random sampling of anyone at SHIELD they would all say that Agent Coulson doesn’t feel things; and even if he was capable of feelings, nervous wouldn’t be one of them. 

He sometimes wishes he could believe his own press. 

He first brings it up after a marathon session, one where Phil dares test the waters, just a little bit. 

And it isn’t like he needs it; it was just kind of nice sometimes. He’s not actually a switch, it’s just a little dynamic play and if it’s a no go from Clint then it will just be something he goes without. 

If it goes well then maybe he’ll ask about his stranger fantasies. 

He knows they’re kinky, and weird. The very thought of them had disgusted Grant to the point he had almost broken up with Phil. Eventually Phil was able to swear enough times to Grant that he would never bring them up again for Grant to believe him. Phil supposes he’s grateful that Grant hadn’t thrown them back in his face during later arguments, not even the Big One where they ended it for the last time. 

Clint has his wrists tied together but is otherwise free on the bed; his golden skin peekaboos through the white sheets and he stretches out like a cat on his back, bowing his chest and abs out, his dick hot and hard and signaling its readiness for round three.

“I want to try something; if you don’t like it, I want you to let me know right away, okay?”

Clint’s eyes practically glow with anticipation as he dares Phil, “Bring it.”

Phil brushes his hand loosely through Clint’s hair and then trails his hand along Clint’s neck. He continues down the middle of Clint’s chest, making a quick stop to brush his fingers over each of Clint’s nipples, making him gasp again before resting his fingers on the rope around Clint’s wrists, “You’ll need your hands.”

Clint gives Phil a piercing look but Phil is at his most unreadable. He wants to know where this is going and so he agrees, “Okay.”

Once Clint’s hands are free Phil strokes his fingers down Clint’s chest and then abs and all the way down until his hand is wrapped around Clint’s dick; he presses his thumb into Clint’s slit and then rubs his precome around the tip, then Phil leans in and whispers in Clint’s ear, prepared for Clint’s disgust; for him to ‘yellow’ or possibly even ‘red’, “I’d like you to fuck my face,” and then adds, with just a touch of begging, “Please?”

Phil’s heart races and his face heats up and he could try to control his reaction to feeling so exposed but he doesn’t want to; he wants to give in to the siren call that says he can trust Clint with anything, even this. Even if Clint does safeword he knows they’ll be okay.

Please let them be okay. 

“Fuck! Oh, fuck,” Clint shouts, thrusting up into Phil’s hand and Clint doesn’t safeword; in fact quite the opposite, “Phil! Yes, oh fuck, yes.”

Phil doesn’t say any more but files away Clint’s tone as an indicator that he might be up for more serious dynamic play after they’ve discussed it. Maybe he’d even be willing to go further and try out some of Phil’s kinkier adynamic fantasies. He groans at the image of Clint beneath him, no ropes or cuffs, no Sirs and no subspace, just the hot slick slide of his dick in Clint’s ass and trading soft, endless kisses. 

Phil kisses his way down to Clint’s dick, teasing Clint’s nipples with his mouth like he had his fingers only a moment before. There’s no preamble, no kiss or lick, just Phil swallowing down Clint’s dick and sucking quick and hard.

“Oh, fuck me, Phil. So good. Fuck.”

Phil looks up as he starts to use his tongue, just in time to see Clint’s eyes roll back. And then Phil really gets to work. Even with as enthusiastic as Phil seems Clint doesn’t really believe him until he takes Clint’s hands and places them on the back of his head.

Phil sucks his way back off Clint’s dick and says, “Move me however it feels good for you, baby. I want you to use me. I can take it. If I really need a moment I’ll tap your hand.”

“Are you— Fuck, you’re serious! Oh, God, Phil, I’m not gonna last long but yeah, I can do that. I— Fuck, really?”

“Yes. Please?”

Clint’s fingers tighten in Phil’s hair and he licks his lips, “Like this?” He asks and pulls Phil’s mouth back to his dick and Phil moans in pleasure and then sinks down around Clint’s dick with the subtle pressure Clint uses on the back of his head. 

Phil stays there and Clint panics a little when he realizes Phil is waiting for Clint to pull him back by his hair and so he yanks harder than he means to which makes Phil whimper a little and oh, it’s so dirty that Clint can’t believe how much he loves it; based on Phil’s blissed out expression he loves it too. 

He pulls Phil back down and slowly gets into a rhythm that has them both moaning. Phil is drooling and every now and then he chokes a little and it’s so hot that Clint feels like he’s been set on fire.

It’s everything Phil had hoped for and more, and he thinks he could do this forever, but Clint was right, it’s not long before he’s tugging on Phil’s hair and saying, “Shit! Fuck, Phil, I’m gonna— I can’t— I’m gonna come,” but Phil doesn’t back off, instead he pulls against Clint’s hands in his hair, deep throating him one last time as he comes, swallowing every drop.

Phil releases his dick with one last slurp and asks with a note of concern in his rough voice, “Okay?” As he wipes the drool from his face.

“So much better than ‘okay’. Fuck. I’ve never— that was amazing,” Clint notices that Phi’s dick is flushed and straining and slick from tip to midway down his shaft from his precome, “Oh, God, you really liked that, didn’t you?”

Phil forces himself to look Clint in the eye instead of away and says, “Yes. It wasn’t too much?”

“No! I loved it,” Clint says, “But, um…”

“What is it?” Phil asks concerned. 

“Can you jack you off until you come on me now? I want— Can you…?”

“You want me to mark you up with my come, baby? Show you you’re mine?”

“I—,” Clint looks down and away, embarrassed at being so transparently needy.

“Lay back. Grab your elbows and put your arms over your head.”

“Oh, thank you, Sir.”

Phil straddles one of Clint’s thick thighs and takes himself in hand, they gaze into each other’s eyes as Phil strokes himself and Clint sees the exact moment Phil tips over the edge and avidly watches as Phil’s come stripes across his body. Clint moans as Phil massages his come into Clint’s skin and lets go of his arms to make grabby hands at Phil, pulling him down to cover Clint’s body with his own and nuzzling into Phil’s neck.

Later, they snuggle down under the covers, Clint has his head on Phil’s chest and one leg draped over Phil’s, holding him down and Phil haltingly tells Clint his fantasy, of Clint unbound and fully Up and both of them giving and taking equally; petting Clint’s hair so that he keeps his head down and won’t be able to see Phil’s uncontrollable blush. 

Phil waits for Clint to pull away, to question everything about them, about Phil, but Clint just cuddles closer and says, soft and easy like it’s nothing, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” Clint yawns, “But not tonight. I’m all orgasmed out. Three’s my limit.”

“Hmmm.”

“What’s that ‘Hmmm’ for?”

“I don’t think three is even close to your limit.”

Clint’s breath catches, “Oh.”

“Someday we’ll really see how far you can go,” Phil kisses the top of Clint’s head, “But not tonight. Right now this is perfect.”

Clint hums in agreement and they drift off to sleep together.

~~~

Four days later Clint hasn’t stopped bothering Phil about it since, which is how they end up in bed, both naked and not a rope or cuff in sight. 

“You’re sure, baby?”

“I am, are you?”

“Yeah. Yes. It’s just. No one’s done this for me before.”

“Phil Coulson, are you saying I’m your first.”

“In this? Yes.”

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Clint leans in to kiss Phil, aggressive like he usually is at the start of a scene but instead of pushing back, fighting Clint for control until Clint lets go and just takes it, Phil’s lets Clint direct the kiss. 

He’s not passive, nor is he letting Clint dash himself against Phil’s will like the surf against the shore, and Clint isn’t being punished for his audacity with a non reaction. No, Phil is meeting him every step of the way, lips and tongue and teeth; but it’s not a fight, it’s a dance. One where Phil’s content to follow where Clint leads. 

‘ _Holy Shit,’_ Clint falls back, pulling Phil with him, and Phil’s compliant in this too; Clint’s hands on Phil hips nudge Phil until he’s settled between Clint’s legs.

Phil rests the wet tip of his dick on Clint’s hole, not even pushing a little bit and begs, fucking begs and it’s so dirty but it twists something so right inside Clint, “Please, Clint?”

 _‘Phil Coulson is the kinkiest motherfucker I’ve ever met,”_ Clint thinks, and says, “Do it Phil. I want you inside me. Now.”

Normally being pushy gets Phil to snark back at him, or if he’s lucky a swift slap on the ass and an affectionate, _‘brat’_ , but what he gets is a long low _needy_ whine as Phil slowly sinks into him.

“Fuck, you feel good, baby. So tight and wet and ready for me,” Phil props himself up on one arm and he’s still doing that trick of body language he has where he seems larger and more intimidating than normal; something Clint’s seen him use plenty of times when corralling wayward agents or, more rarely but just as effectively, when playing ‘bad cop’ in an interrogation; but he’s never used it on Clint before. His eyes have darkened, his pupils wider until there’s barely a thin ring of gold flecked blue left and Clint’s head tilts back involuntarily and his lips part in a moan as he exposes his throat. 

Phil kisses up and down his neck and then nuzzles the spot between Clint’s neck and shoulder where there’s almost a permanent bruise from how much they both love it when Phil bites him there. This time his bite is so gentle it’s barely a scrap of teeth, but it still causes a tingle to run from his neck to his dick, “Phil!”

_‘This is not what I was expecting.’_

“Perfect. God, Clint, you’re so fucking perfect,” Phil’s lips are against his ear and with each hot, wet, beautiful thrust of his dick Phil whispers, “Perfect, perfect, perfect.”

Clint’s never had sex like this, where every nerve feels like it’s exploding with pleasure but there’s not even a hint of subspace; his mind is as free and clear as it is in the range, only a million times better and with every _‘perfect’, ‘Clint’_ , and _‘oh God, baby’_ everything becomes sharper and more real in all the best ways and his last coherent thought is, _‘Fuck this is amazing, don’t ever let it stop.’_

Clint’s ass rises up to meet each of Phil’s thrusts and Phil moves his hands until their behind Clint’s knees and Phil raises his legs, lifting Clint’s ass up from the bed to give Phil a deeper angle; one that he knows causes his dick to rub just right over Clint’s prostate. He sinks all the way in and then pushes that much harder, his hips digging into Clint’s ass before slowly pulling back, twisting toward the end to get that small half grunt/half gasp out of Clint before pressing back in at the same slow pace. He gradually speeds up until the sound of their bodies colliding is louder than his frantic moan of, “Perfect,” each time Clint’s body fully takes him in. 

Clint’s arms, so strong that he could break Phil in two without a thought, wrap up over Phil’s shoulders to his back and urge him to go faster and faster, “Fuck, I’m gonna come inside you, baby. You want that, sweetheart? Want me to fill your perfect ass with my come?”

Clint doesn’t say anything, he just pulls Phil tighter to his body and Phil feels him nod is head, his ear still under Phil’s lips and Phil bites down lightly, barely a press of teeth and then Phil’s coming, one last, “Perfect,” slipping from his lips as he practically folds Clint in half.

He holds Clint’s legs in place for a few seconds before straightening and letting them down to either side of his hips and Clint splays them out as he lets his arms fall from Phil’s shoulders. Clint’s arms and legs are as wide and open as eyes, every part of him exposed. His dick is hard and flushed, dripping with precome. Phil pulls out slowly and watches as his come starts to leak out of Clint’s ass with a possessive smile. Clint spreads his legs even more and he’s obscenely beautiful like this. 

Phil reaches between their legs and easily slips two fingers into Clint’s ass. Clint twitches up towards him and Phil knows he could make Clint come from only his fingers, knows just where to press and how to stroke, but he has something else in mind and once his fingers are slick with come and lube he wraps his hand around Clint’s dick and starts stroking.

Clint moans and frames his dick with his hands and then scratches his nails up his hips and then abs and then on up to his nipples. He looks at Phil, asking for permission and Phil tells him, “Whatever you want, baby. You don’t have to ask for a thing.”

Clint pinches his nipples and arches off the bed, “Oh!” He does it a couple more times and then looks down at Phil’s hand and then with a defiant look in his eyes wraps his hand around Phil’s, using Phil’s hand to jerk himself off.

“That’s right, sweetheart, whatever you want, however you want,” and not much later, “You ready to come?”

At Clint’s nod Phil scooches down the bed until his face is right over Clint’s dick and he says, “I want you to come on my face, baby; please?”

It’s more than just the beyond filthy request, it’s the _‘please’_ that does, not snarky or demanding, but earnest and it hits all of Clint’s wrong in the right way button’s and he’s coming all over Phil’s face. 

Phil rests his sticky cheek against Clint’s thigh as they both catch their breath. When he can sit up without falling over he reaches up for the soft towel he had set aside for clean up but before he can wipe his face Clint grabs his wrist and says, “No.”

Phil raises an eyebrow and Clint pulls him forward with his finger under Phil’s chin until he’s close enough for Clint to lick his come off of Phil’s face. It causes heat to pool in Phil’s groin and he thinks he may be up for another round sooner than usual. 

It’s not the act itself, though that’s hotter than a thousand suns; it was the way Clint said, _‘no’_ and then took what he wanted, no self consciousness, no hesitation, moving slow enough that Phil could object, as if he ever would, and taking without either of their dynamics coming into play.

He kisses the taste of Clint’s come out of Clint’s mouth and then brushes the tip of his dick against Clint’s wet asshole as he asks, “Can I fuck you again?”

Clint chuckles light heartedly, “What, no ‘please’?”

Phil looks Clint in the eye as he says, simply, “Please.”

“Oh, fuck,” Clint’s eyes flutter back, “Yeah. You can fuck me,” he shivers as he says it, and then again as Phil pushes into his sensitive hole, “Say it again.”

“Please.”

“Fuck.”

Phil’s leans down so he can whisper it in his ear, “Please.”

“Oh God, Phil!”

“Please?” Phil’s tone has an edge of begging to it now and Clint’s dick gets so hard it’s painful and he loves it.

“Fuck me, Phil; fill my ass with your dick. Do it.”

“Oh, fuck,” Phil’s thankful this is round two or there’s no way he would last, not when Clint’s demand, and that’s what it is, is neither playful or challenging. It’s a straight up order and one neither of them doubts will be obeyed.

“You like that, baby, you like the way my dick feels?”

“Fuck yes. Fuck me. Fuck me harder.”

Phil keeps thrusting until they’re both dripping with sweat and Clint starts urging, “You gonna come in me, Phil? You gonna come in my ass? Fill me up? Come on, Phil come for me.”

“Oh God, oh fuck. Come with me sweetheart, I want to feel you come first,” Phil wraps a hand around Clint’s dick and kisses his neck and then says deep and low, “Come for me now and next time you can fuck my ass.”

“Oh fuck, fuck me, fuck! You— I— Fuck, I’m coming, I’m coming!”

Clint’s ass squeezes around Phil’s dick as he comes and at that point there’s no force on Earth that could prevent Phil from following after him.

Later, wrapped in each other’s arms, still floating on endorphins Clint asks, “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what, baby?”

“Can I— would you really let me… you know?”

“It’s not something I like to do very often but yes, I meant it.”

Clint’s, “Fuck,” is soft and reverent and Phil knows exactly how he feels. 


	3. We Could Fly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh. This installment’s going up a couple minutes early. Sue me.

“Show me,” Phil says as soon as Barton locks Phil’s office door, pushing his lunch to the side.

Barton slowly unbuttons his loose fitting shirt and lets it slip off his shoulders to the floor. 

The screw on nipple clamps flash silver in the light. 

“Come here.”

Barton stalks over from the door and Phil has to palm his dick through his pants; Barton moves like liquid sex.

“That’s close enough,” Phil says once he’s a couple steps away, “Hands behind your back.”

Barton shifts into a parade rest.

“Tell me how you feel.”

“It… they ache, but in a good way. I can’t stop thinking about them.”

Barton’s nipples are already fairly sensitive, so Phil had been careful to ensure the tension was just right, something just shy of painful, especially considering how long Barton’s going to be wearing them. 

Barton’s off active field duty while his ribs heal from the Kiev fiasco, though his version of ‘taking it easy’ doesn’t exactly match up to Phil or Medical’s standards. He’s running training scenarios with the probationary agents, giving Carlisle both a little break and a chance to get some fieldwork in. Normally it would be a cakewalk for him, Phil’s little challenge has just tweaked up the difficulty, and hopefully keeping him aware of his chest and his current restrictions while he’s at it. 

All Clint has to do is make it through the day without asking to come. Coulson won’t punish him for failure, and the challenge is in and of itself a reward. Both of them are looking forward to seeing how far Clint can push himself. 

“Not what. How.”

“Fuck,” it’s so much easier to concentrate on the what. Clint starts with the easiest thing first, “Horny as fuck.”

“Keep going.”

He looks away, unwilling to lie but also not wanting to say.

“Barton.”

Clint glares defiantly, “Needy.”

“Good boy,” Phil says and Clint moans without meaning to. 

After a beat Phil says, “I didn’t say you could stop.”

Clint says silent.

“What else?”

He shakes his head ‘no’.

“Clint.”

He licks his lips as he looks down; he breathes out and whispers, “Submissive,” then shudders. He can almost feel the edge of subspace.

“Beautiful. Do you want to go Down or stay Up?”

“Stay Up.”

“Why?”

“You know why, asshole.”

“Tell me.”

“Fuck. If I go Down I’ll ask to come.”

“Play with your nipples. Gently. Be careful not to loosen the clamps.”

“Fuck!” Clint swears as it feels like electricity radiates out from his nipples. His hips roll forward, “Oh, fuck. Feels so good.”

Phil undoes his pants and pulls his dick out, “Keep going. Talk to me, baby.”

Clint bites his lip.

“What do you want?” Phil asks. Clint looks up through his lashes and shrugs. “Do you want to come like this, here in my office, from playing with your nipples?”

Clint shakes his head ‘no’ again and fuck if it isn’t a power trip when he goes non-verbal like this.

“Do you want me to get on my knees and suck you off?”

“Oh, Fuck! Fuck-fuck-fuck. I can’t- fuck, Phil, I’m going come if you keep talking like that.”

“Would you like that? Could you come just from your hands on your nipples and me telling you all the dirty things I want to do to you?”

“No! Yes. Fuck. I could. Don’t wanna,” Clint pants as he continues to play with his nipples, his hips twitching uncontrollably.

“What do you want, baby? Name it, it’s yours.”

“Can I suck you off? Oh, fuck, let me suck your dick, Phil.”

“Two conditions.”

“Fuck. Yes. Anything.”

“You keep your hands on your nipples and I don’t come until you do, which means stopping before either of us comes. I’d like to wait until we get home. Do you think you’ll be able to stop in time?”

Clint is conflicted; he really isn’t sure but, God, does he want his mouth on Phil’s dick.

Phil loves this, the sweet torture of denying them both, of pushing them just to the edge of no return and then turning back. 

“Did I say you could stop playing with your nipples?”

Clint whimpers, “Fuck. Sorry Sir.” 

Clint’s fingers had stilled but now he returns to lightly rubbing, twisting, and pulling his nipples and he moans, “Oh fuck. I don’t think I can do it. Can I… can I be your cockwarmer? Just until I have to go back.”

“How much longer do you have?”

“Ten minutes, maybe.”

“Come here.”

“Oh fuck yes,” Clint steps close and lowers himself carefully to place, playing with his nipples the entire time. Phil won’t have to remind him again. 

He opens his mouth and waits for Phil.

“No sucking, no tongue, no movement. You can make noise as long as you don’t abuse the privilege; no intentionally moaning to try and get me to fuck your face. There won’t be any warnings. You break the rules and we’re done until we get home. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir. No sucking, no tongue, no movement. Noise is okay as long as it’s unintentional.”

“Good boy. Now give me your mouth.”

It’s hard, one of the hardest things Clint has ever done, staying in position and playing with his nipples and keeping his mouth as passive as possible. He moans and whines occasionally, usually when he swallows and gets to more fully feel the weight of Phil’s dick in his throat for a brief moment. Phil’s smells like coffee and cherry woodsmoke and Clint’s eyes flutter shut. He doesn’t go Down, but it’s close. 

So fucking close. 

Phil doesn’t sit completely still but does keep his movement to a minimum, only shifting enough to stay comfortable, though comfortable is a relative feeling. He wants to grab Clint’s hair and fuck his mouth until he cries, until he thrashes and moans and begs to come. Phil wants to Order Clint to suck his dick down his throat, to use that talented tongue of his to draw out Phil’s orgasm. 

But even more he wants to make them wait, to ride that exquisite edge the rest of the day, until the only thing they can think about is coming apart in each other’s arms. 

Clint hovers in that almost there place and time loses meaning. He only knows the ache of his ribs from holding his position, the intense pleasure-pain from his nipples, and the peace that comes from serving Phil. In a way it’s a relief when Phil runs his hands through Clint’s hair and eases him off of his dick. Phil wipes Clint’s chin and then pulls Clint up by his hair into a crushing kiss that’s almost enough to ruin him. 

He’s trembling by the time Phil finally releases him and says, “Get dressed. We’ll do this again on your next break.”

Clint slowly puts on his shirt, easing it over his shoulders and then taking his time with the buttons as he tries to push his libido down.

When he thinks he’s ready to leave, he asks, more tentatively than he means to, “Phil?”

“What do you need, baby?” Phil asks, pants zipped, looking perfectly composed and not at all like he’s a hair trigger away from bending Clint over his desk and fucking him until they both pass out.

“Would it be alright… Fuck,” he says, looking away, feeling more vulnerable than ever and hating it as he asks, “Can I have a hug?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Phil says, coming over and wrapping his arms around Clint, touched by Clint’s openness, “You’re doing such a good job; you’re making me very, very happy.”

Clint holds on tight, both to Phil and his words. He lets go when he’s ready and straightens out his shirt. 

“Ready?” Phil asks.

Clint nods, “Ready.”

“Oh, one more thing,” Coulson says as Clint turns and touches the door knob. 

He comes up behind Clint and pulls him back until his dick is pressed into the crack of Clint’s ass; then he bites and sucks on the back of Clint’s neck until he leaves a bright red hickey for everyone to see.

“You bastard,” Barton says as Phil pushes him out of his office and they both know it isn’t the mark but the fact that Phil just shattered the composure he had worked so hard to get in place. 

“So it’s been said. See you in a couple hours,” Phil says and heads back to his desk, “Be good.”

“Fuck you, Coulson,” Barton says, flipping Phil off as he walks away.


	4. Wine From Your Tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m changing my posting schedule for this series to Friday’s, but rather than go more than a week between chapters I’m posting twice this week.
> 
> Yay!
> 
> Also, I’m looking for suggestions of good places to hang out for Hawkeye talk, chat rooms or forums or whatever. Recommendations are appreciated. 😊
> 
> One more super porny chapter after this and then we get to the main heartbreak.
> 
> Er. I mean story.

“Why do you have a picture of Agent Ward?”

“What?” Phil asks, confused. He has a couple photographs spread throughout his apartment and Grant is in some of them but that’s to be expected, they’re friends. 

“Agent. Grant. Ward. Why did you hide a picture of him in your nightstand?”

“My? Oh! I forgot—“

“You ‘forgot’? That you were hiding a picture of the hottest submissive in SHIELD half naked on his Goddamn knees?”

“You’re the hottest sub in SHIELD.”

“No. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Deflect. 

“It’s not a deflection, it’s the truth. You’re more attractive than Grant ever was.”

Clint feels his jealousy and fear fueled anger start to ebb but then looks down at the expensively framed picture and it surges back. 

It’s in black and white, taken in Phil’s bed, white linens surrounding Ward like a cloud. He’s wearing a pair of loose dark sweats that on second glance are obviously too short for him and Clint can make the University of Chicago logo on the leg. They’re Coulson’s. He’s wearing Coulson’s sweatpants. Clint knows exactly how soft the worn fabric feels against his skin and now he knows that Ward knows too. 

Ward’s dark hair is in disarray, his softly parted lips are dark and full, and he has bruises up and down his body; he has on a thick braided chain collar with a heavy padlock instead of a buckle. His hands are behind his back and his dark eyes are staring at the camera, at _Phil_ , with such naked need and lust that Clint can feel it. 

“Then why the hell do you still have this?”

“It’s an old photo, I forgot it was there.”

“Why was it hidden like some dirty little secret?”

“I wasn’t hiding it from you.”

“The fuck you weren’t. I was looking for another bottle of lube and found it tucked in the back of the drawer.”

“I was hiding it from myself. I— It wasn’t a good break up and I… I didn’t handle it well. I couldn’t make myself get rid of it and looking at it was tearing me apart so I shoved it as far away as I could and eventually I forgot all about it. Here,” Phil holds out his hand and Barton reluctantly hands it over. He pulls out the photo and gives it to Barton, “Tear it to pieces, set it on fire, or just throw it out. I don’t care. It doesn’t mean anything to me anymore. You’re the one I care about, you’re the one I’m with.”

“Phil…” Barton breathes out, whatever he sees in Phil’s eyes has him dropping the picture as his anger leaves him and he cups Phil’s face in his hands before he kisses him, deep and slow. 

Phil’s free hand spreads across the small of Barton’s back, he slips it under Clint’s shirt so that he can press his hand against his warm skin and Phil pulls him close, being careful with Clint’s mostly healed ribs. Phil starts to throw the picture frame to the side when Clint grabs his wrist and breaks the kiss, “Maybe we can find something better to put in there.”

“Yeah?” Phil asks, “What were you thinking?”

“Me, obviously,” Clint says with a smirk, “But maybe after you’ve edged me for as long as I can take?”

“Oh, fuck, Clint,” Phil kisses him, one hand still caught in Clint’s grasp, the other firm against the small of his back, both of them holding each other in place as Phil devours his mouth, “When?”

“No time like the present,” Clint knows better than to give himself any time to think about it.

~~~

Three days later Clint is regretting all of his life choices. He had started to pray for a mission that needs his specific skill set, something that he can use as an excuse for getting off without actually tapping out. 

Unfortunately he’s on medical restriction until at least next week, even though his ribs are fine. The last batch of recruits just got promoted to grown up agent status and there's nothing to do around the office so Clint is effectively on leave; which means Coulson can, and will, draw this out as long as possible. 

Maybe it would be easier if Clint hadn’t been dumb enough to make the tap out phrase ‘You win’. Either of them can technically call it at any time, though if they do so while Coulson’s at work and Clint’s at home Clint will have to be the one holding the camera and he’s not sure he’ll be capable of it in the moment. 

God, he had been so cocky at the beginning and Coulson had been so eager to wipe out the memory of Ward’s pouting lips and bedroom eyes, Clint hadn’t even dreamed of it going this far. The first two days he had teased back and Coulson had waited him out, not coming himself until last night, coating Clint’s chest as Clint begged and begged and begged for release. It was a minor victory for Clint, but he so wants to hear Phil say those two words. 

The memory alone is enough to make him harden up from the semi that has become a permanent fixture in his life and he turns on the TV looking for a distraction. 

He’s just finishing up an episode of _‘What’s My Crime?_ ’ (Blackmailing, obviously, Clint had it pegged in the first two minutes) when the reminder beeps and he has an almost Pavlovian response, the subtle ebb and flow of subspace around him becoming heady and much closer than he had anticipated. 

Fuck. 

He decides to lay back on the couch for this one, letting one of Phil’s seemingly endless supply of hand knitted throws drop from his shoulders and exposing the long length of his naked body. He slips on the Bluetooth earpiece and smooths his hand around his neck, squeezing lightly as he thinks about being Phil’s hand. 

He brings his other hand up to his nipple, not quite touching it, circling around it and then running his both hands down to frame his straining dick, a bead of precome pearling at the tip. 

The phone rings and he says, “Oh thank God,” as if what’s coming is going to be anything other than a torment, before answering breathlessly, “Phil.”

“Oh, sweetheart. You sound like you’re hurting,” Phil had locked the door before making the scheduled call and he’s glad he did, hearing Clint sound so needy has his hand on his dick almost right away. 

“It does, Sir, hurts so good. I like hurting for you.”

“Good, I like it when you hurt for me. You haven’t been touching yourself, have you baby?”

“No, Sir, but I want to.”

“Can you do it without coming?”

“I- maybe?”

“How close are you?”

“I’m so wet for you, Sir, if I’m not careful I might drip on the couch.”

“Show me.”

Clint grabs his phone, switches it to video mode, and almost comes from Phil’s dark and possessive expression alone.

Barton’s hair is mussed up and he closes his eyes and moans as soon as he’s on screen. Phil has to loosen his grip on his phone before he breaks it. 

“Clean yourself up. You know what I want to see.”

“Oh, God, Phil,” Clint shivers and obeys, switching the camera from his face to his dick and using his free hand to collect his precome with his finger, following it with the camera up to his lips and then sucking it off with a deep throated moan. 

Phil opens his pants one handed and slips his dick out, not bothering with the lube he’s started keeping in his desk drawer just yet. 

“Tastes so good. Wish you were here, wish you could taste it on my tongue.”

Phil whispers, “Fuck,” and then in a louder rasp, “Touch your nipples, make them wet for me, baby.”

Phil wraps his hand around his dick, strokes gently up to palm the tip and then back down, his own precome isn’t enough to offset the rough drag of his palm and the gentle pain is just right. 

“Oh, fuck, I, God. Phil,” Clint is careful not to rub too hard, if he does he might come and he doesn’t want that, not as much as he wants to win. He wants to give Phil a picture of himself at the height of his triumph, not of him at his breaking point. Phil will be happy with either since he’s happiest pushing Clint to his limits. 

“That’s it, Clint; look at you, being so good for me. You are, aren’t you? You’re my good boy?”

“Yes, Sir,” Clint gasps.

“Say it all. Say it and squeeze your dick for me, get it wet and stroke it. Tell me how you feel,” Phil’s breath catches as Clint fumbles off screen and then shows his hand coating his dick with lube, squeezing it with a whimper and then starting to slowly stroke from root to tip, using the little twist Phil knows he likes.

“Oh fuck me. I’m— fuck— I’m your good boy. Jesus, Phil, please?” He’s begged more in the last three days than he thinks he may have ever done in his life and it’s never felt this right, never thought begging could feel like this, “My hand feels so good. Hot. Tight. Wish it was yours. Need you. Want you. Want to come, God, in your mouth, on your skin, anywhere, fuck, I need it, please, Phil?”

“Oh, fuck, Clint, keep going, right to the edge, as far as you can go. You know what you need to do if you want to go over.”

“Unnh,” Clint’s Down as far as he can be and still talk, and in danger of going all the way Under. It hurts so good he wants to hover there and he has to tell Phil, “Love hurting for you, Sir, feels right, want you to own me, want your arms and your mouth and your dick, wanna feel you inside me, fucking me, oh fuck, I’m close, sir, so fucking close. Let me, you gotta let me come, don’t you want to hear it? I’ll come so pretty for you Phil, please?”

“Show me your face,” Clint whines as he clicks the camera back over, and Phil says, “That’s it, just like that, fucking Christ, Clint, you’re so beautiful. I want you to come for me, baby, but you have to say the words. It’s the only way I’m letting you come. Faster, Clint. Harder. Keep fucking your hand, imagine it’s my hand, my mouth, you can do it Clint, just say it and it’s yours.”

Clint starts crying, “Fuck, Phil, Sir, please? Please let me come, please?”

“Say the words and not only do you get to come now but I’ll come home right now and let you bend me over and fuck my ass until you come again inside me.”

“OH, FUCK!” He never would have thought Phil had such a filthy mouth and Clint knows he doesn’t mean it, can’t mean it, he may talk about it but even Phil can’t be that kinky. Just the thought of his dom letting Clint put his dick in his ass is enough to push him over.

There’s a ding from the next reminder and Clint sobs as it ruins his orgasm just before he gives in and he cries out; if it had just been a couple of seconds later he would have broken and he hates that stubborn part of him that refuses to give in, “Nooooo!”

“Hands off, baby. We’re done until the next time.”

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Clint says, frustrated and almost a little angry, but does as he’s told.

“I know it hurts, Clint, but you’re doing so well, I’m so proud of you. Go ahead and clean up.”

Clint blinks away his tears and he can see Phil is still jerking off and pouts, “No fair.”

The corner of Phil’s lip twitches and he says, “Last chance to say them now, before I hang up. I mean it, say them now and my ass is yours. All night.”

Fuck, but Phil plays dirty, “Fuck you, Sir.”

Phil laughs and hangs up. He debates finishing himself off but likes the thought of waiting more. Coming last night took the edge off (pun intended) and he knows Clint has to be close to breaking. 

He’s been surprised and delighted at how willing Clint has been to beg lately and part of him has had to remain a little detached, ever watchful for the potential Drop. 

Fun and games are one thing but the last thing he wants is for Clint to feel bad about anything they do together. 

Phil knows that while they can control for a lot of the known factors of what might Drop Clint, there are times that it might just happen. They’ve both taken precautions and Phil has all the things that best help Clint get through it in their aftercare kits, both the one at home and a smaller one Phil keeps in his desk. 

Phil finishes cleaning himself up and then unlocks and opens his office door. All his ops are currently running smoothly (for once). They’re making progress on this Framework thing and he’s even thinking of handing it off to Taskforce and letting Maria take the lead. Right now the only thing he has to worry about is routine paperwork and how he might escalate things with his amazing sub. 

He can tell Clint’s reaching his limit; Phil isn’t going to push him too much further, if Clint’s not ready to say ‘you win’ by the time Phil gets home, Phil knows he will say it himself. 

~~~

A few minutes before the next reminder Clint finds himself in Phil’s office doorway; the ride to the Trisk on his motorcycle did him no favors and he’s sure he’s broken several local ordinances about driving while Down. He tells himself it’s because he’s a glutton for punishment but, secretly, he knows it’s because he can’t make it another round and he needs to be with Phil when it happens. 

“Hey, Coulson? Got a minute?”

Clint is a little wild around the eyes and there’s a tension in his body and Phil knows exactly why his sub is here. He feels a powerful surge of Hunger, knowing he’s pushed his submissive as far as he could go, that Clint has come to Submit to Phil’s will and he feels the beast swallow him whole.

“Get the door,” he growls, barely restraining himself from making it an Order.

Clint shivers as he turns to close the door and he keys in the do not disturb lock code, the one only Fury can override, with trembling fingers. He rests his head against the cool metal of the door, not ready to face Phil now that he’s here. 

Phil prowls his way to where his submissive stands, head bowed. He’s wearing the black turtleneck, cargo pants, and combat boots, the de facto uniform for field agents. 

“Weren’t you supposed to stay naked until I got home?” Phil breathes against the back of his neck.

Clint nods.

“I asked you a question, baby,” Phil lightly kicks his sub’s ankles apart until his legs are spread to Phil’s satisfaction. This brings Clint’s ear down so that Phil doesn’t have to stretch to bite it, which he does, hard, before saying in that almost but not quite Voice tone, “I expect an answer.”

Clint whimpers, “Yes, Sir.”

“ _Use my name, Clint_ ,” Phil can’t stop himself as a sliver of Command bleeds through.

“Oh, fuck, Phil— Yes, Phil,” the hazy almost there swell of subspace crashes down around him and he doesn’t try to tame it, doesn’t want to try, he just wants to feel. 

Phil slides his hands down Clint’s arms and grabs his wrists, “I can only assume that means you're looking for trouble?” 

He lifts Clint’s hands and slaps his hands palms down against the door, “That was a question.”

“Oh!” Clint cries out, “Yes— I mean no,” he shakes his head, trying to clear it, still keeping it down, “I don’t know, Phil. I— I couldn’t wait; I need you. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be a bad sub.”

Phil slips his hands under the front of Clint’s shirt and skims his hands up to Clint nipples, circling without touching, “You could never be a bad sub, sweetheart, but you were,” Phil pinches Clint’s nipples, twisting and pulling and using his fingernails, “Naughty.”

“Aaa-aaah!” Clint yells, his hips bucking as the pain/pleasure surges from his nipples straight to his dick, “Phil!”

“So what do you think I should do with you?”

“Let me come, S— Phil?” Clint asks his voice breathless but teasing. He falters over using Phil’s name instead of ‘Sir’ as the Order fades.

“That doesn’t sound like a punishment at all. A punishment would be fucking you against this door,” Phil says, lightly drawing his nails down from Clint’s nipples to his hips and then pulling them back forcefully so he can grind his hard dick against the cleft of Clint’s ass, “Telling you _don’t you dare come_ —”

“Aah!” Clint cries out again and feels tears prick his eyes he loses himself to the pleasure/pain of the Order, stronger than any Phil has ever given (not counting the night they met); he’s caught in the paradox of the Order spiking his need to come and being held back by the power of Phil’s Voice.

“—and filling your sweet ass with my come. Punishment would be making you ride home feeling my come leaking out your sore hole,” Clint starts crying in earnest, his breath catching in little hiccups as he shakes his head ‘no’, “And then making you wait until I get home before you get your release.”

Phil growls, “Punishment would be not letting you come for days,” he lifts up Clint’s shirt but stops short of removing it completely, twisting it until Clint’s wrists are bound together in front of him and then bringing Clint wrists over his head until his hands are behind his neck, pressing them in a silent command to keep them in place. 

“Punishment would be not letting you come even after you admit that I’ve won,” he says, his voice full of dark intent. 

“Please, no!” Clint sobs, trying to pull his arms away but Phil holds them in place with one hand and uses the other to palm Clint’s hard dick, pressing him back into Phil’s thrusts. 

As Clint struggles against Phil’s hold, Phil undoes Clint’s pants and feels a bolt of lust when he discovers that Clint isn’t wearing any underwear. He wraps his fingers around Clint’s dick. It’s thick and hot in Phil’s hand and as Clint moans he squeezes it to just the right side of pain.

Clint feels like he’s being tossed about on the ocean as he keeps rising and falling into that no-place place where the world drops away and everything becomes pure sensation, “Phil! Please? Please, Phil?”

“Naked. Now,” Phil growls, letting go of Clint’s wrists and pulling down Clint’s pants. He helps Clint kick off his shoes and smiles; Clint hadn’t even taken the time to tie them properly, nor, Phil discovers, did he put on socks.

Phil stands and turns Clint to face him, he wipes away a tear with his thumb and then licks way the salt before resting it against Clint’s lip. He tugs Clint’s lip down and Clint flicks his tongue to lick Phil’s thumb as well. 

Phil draws his thumb down to Clint’s throat and then kisses him, tongue sweeping across Clint’s lower lip before delving inside. He knows he’ll never taste his fill and so he releases Clint’s mouth, saying, “Go lie on the couch on your back, hands over your head.”

“Yes, Phil,” Clint takes half a step before pausing to ask, “Do you—,” he lowers his eyes, “Should I crawl, Phil?”

“Do you want to crawl, sweetheart?”

Clint thinks about it and realizes he doesn’t really want to, it’s just what fits the image of a good sub. He wants to want to, but something in him rebels at the idea, at the _wrongness_ that churns in his stomach. If he had really wanted to he would have gone to his knees first and then asked for permission. He asked because it’s what he expects Phil to want and if Phil wants it he’ll do it no matter bad it might make him feel. He shakes his head reluctantly. 

Phil lifts his chin to look into Clint’s tear stained eyes, “Then I don’t want you to either. Now go,” he swats Clint on the ass as he heads over to the couch, pulling a gasp out of his submissive.

“God, you’re so damn beautiful, Clint,” Phil says once Clint’s arranged himself on his back, naked except for his wrists bound by his shirt, “You ready to come for me?”

“But what about,” Clint asks, “My punishment?”

“That will have to come later; right now all I want is to watch you fall apart for me. You know what you need to do if you want that to happen, don’t you, Clint? Do you feel it as much as I do? Can you feel how much I need you, baby?”

“Oh, fuck, Phil!” If it weren’t for the lingering effects of Phil’s Order, he would be coming right now, just as he’s about to say the words, not sure if Phil really means it, that he’ll really let Clint come of he says them, the reminder beeps. 

“I forgot,” Clint says, “Your picture, Phil.”

Phil gives him a hungry smile, the one that promises to do bad, bad things to him, and pulls out his phone and starts recording with one hand, the other pinching and pulling at Clint’s nipples until he starts to cry again. Phil asks him, “Are you ready?”

Clint bites his lip and closes his eyes, nodding. 

“I want you to look at me when you say it.”

A pained expression crosses Clint’s face and then he steels himself. He opens his eyes and looks directly at Phil, which means he’s looking directly at the camera when, as a tear runs down his cheek he submits, “You win, Phil.”

“ _Come for me!”_

It’s nowhere near Phil’s full strength, barely more than a Whisper, but it’s more than enough for Clint’s orgasm to tear through him like an earthquake and he gasps and lets out one long continuous moan; he whites out, becoming a creature of pure pleasure. His whole world is nothing but his Master and ecstasy. 

Clint’s body ripples from head to toe and back again and his untouched dick spurts across his abs and chest, nearly reaching his chin, his orgasm going on and on and on.

Phil’s by his side as he comes down; he takes Clint’s bound wrists and brings them down in front of him letting them rest on the mess across his stomach. He’s going to use Clint’s shirt to wipe away every last drop of come and have Clint wear it home. Clint is panting as Phil lifts his shoulders and slips beneath him until Clint’s lying back against him, cradled between Phil’s legs. 

Clint comes to feeling warm and secure, the scent of sweet woodsmoke and coffee surrounding him and he gradually notices the press of Phil’s arms around him and Phil’s dick against his back. He settles into Phil’s hold and tilts his head back. 

“Kiss,” he demands and Phil rewards him, trading languid kisses with him until he sighs and settles back in Phil’s embrace. 

Phil kisses the top of his head and then says, “Time for your punishment.”

Clint tenses and says miserably, “Now?”

He feels so good part of him resents having to face the consequences of his actions right now but he knows it’s not his place to question his dom. 

“Yes, now. I want you to watch the video we just made.”

“And?” Clint asks nervously.

“And that’s it.”

Clint lets out a sigh of relief. He had been afraid it would be something difficult or something that would completely shock him out of his afterglow. This may be a little embarrassing for someone else, but Clint’s a born exhibitionist, “Okay.”

Phil holds his phone so they can watch it together and presses play. 

_Phil’s long fingers pinch and pull at Clint’s nipples until he starts to cry and Phil asks Clint, “Are you ready?”_

_Clint bites his lip and closes his eyes, nodding._

_“I want you to look at me when you say it.”_

_A pained expression crosses Clint’s face and then one of determination. He opens his eyes and looks directly at the camera, needy and wanton and desperate; a tear runs down his cheek as he submits, “You win, Phil.”_

_Phil’s Order comes from offscreen, “_ Come for me!”

“OH FUCK!” Clint shouts as he comes again from the recording of Phil’s Order. He’s not ready for it, he’s not even hard, and it hurts, God it hurts, and it’s equal parts awful and amazing but only for a moment as it’s all enough to drag him back Down, Down, Down to the place where every little pain is sharp and sweet and flawless. 

Phil drops his phone and holds on to Clint as his body twists on top of Phil, petting him and making comforting shushing noises as he comes back Up, “Shh, shh, I’ve got you, I’ve got you. So good for me, baby; my perfect, perfect, submissive.”

“Phil?” Clint says softly, once he’s back Up and has his breath back. 

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry for…” Phil prompts him.

“For disobeying you and not staying home like a good sub.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you are a good sub.”

“Fine, then,” he says, his tone clearly disagreeing with Phil’s assessment but not willing to fight him while feeling so good but also raw from the ebbing tingles two intense orgasms, “For being a ‘naughty’ sub.”

“Close.”

Clint looks back at Phil confused, “Then what…?”

“You got in trouble for not calling and asking for permission first.”

“Oh.”

The thought hadn’t even occurred to him, that he could just ask. 

“The whole point of punishing you is to help you remember for next time; was this enough, or do you need something more?”

“No! No, I’ll remember.”

“Good boy,” Phil says and turns Clint’s face so that Phil can kiss him. 

~~~

Phil prints out the picture and frames it when he gets home. 

The angle is far enough back that you can see Clint’s belly button, that first spurt of come showing just beneath it if you know what to look for. The lighting is just right to contour his abs, pecs, and arms. His wrists are bound over his head by the dark fabric of his shirt. His eyes are wide and vulnerable, his irises a thin blue ring around his blown pupils; tear tracks glisten on his cheeks and Phil’s managed to get a sharp enough image that a single tear is clearly defined. Clint’s full Cupid’s bow lips are parted in a gasp that’s frozen in time. 

Phil keeps it on his night stand and has another copy on his phone in a password protected folder along with the saved video file, both of which get him through those terrible nights when they’re apart. 


	5. Your Precious Heart

As soon as the front door closes Phil mercilessly grabs Clint’s ass with one hand, fingers pushing between his legs, and squeezes the back of his neck with the other. 

“I want you naked.” 

Phil’s eager to see how Clint will respond. The anticipation curls deep inside of him, the part of him that needs to both Take and Take Care Of his sub sparking up from its constant kindling to a full burn. 

He’ll use what Clint gives him as fodder for how the scene goes. 

Will he be combative and tell Phil to get naked first? And if so will that mean he wants Phil to let Clint have his way or to reign him in? Or maybe he’ll press Phil against the door and kiss him like his life depends on it, or tell Phil to bite him in a combination dare and demand. 

There’s so many different delicious ways it could go and his sub always surprises him, always challenges Phil in exciting new ways; keeping him sharp and Hungry, both feeding and tempting Phil’s inner demon. 

“Oh, fuck yes,” Clint pulls away and has half his clothes off before he makes it to the bedroom. Nothing turns him on more than when Phil does this; no Order, or even order, just a statement of fact and then letting Clint make the choice of whether or not he wants the same thing and knowing that there are no wrong answers. Tonight all he wants is to be Phil’s, however Phil wants him. 

Clint’s beautiful naked, even with, maybe even especially with, the butterfly bandages on his forehead and his knuckles bruised. 

Phil is right behind him and it turns Clint on more than he can say when Phil tosses his suit jacket and tie to the floor instead of hanging them up like he normally would, that he needs this every bit as much as Clint does.

Phil pushes Clint roughy to the bed then follows him down, pressing his fully clothed body against Clint’s naked one. His kiss is demanding. Powerful. All consuming. Clint is already flirting with the edge of subspace; the submissive voice deep inside him, usually so easy to ignore, cries out for him to give himself to Phil, to fall Down to that place where Phil owns him, body and soul. 

And yet still he resists it. 

Clint meets Phil kiss for kiss, his tongue dueling with Phil’s, biting his lip, twining his hands behind Phil’s neck and pulling him close, grinding his body against Phil’s. He throws his head back and says in a gravelly voice, “Bite me,” and Phil is more than willing to comply, groaning against Clint’s throat when he demands, “More. Harder. Make it hurt.”

“Fuck,” Phil groans and fervently marks his sub with sharp teeth and sucking kisses to his neck, throat and shoulders. Leaving particularly noticeable ones where they’ll show above the collar of his shirt tomorrow. 

They make out like teenagers, biting, sucking, and groping until Phil whispers, “Color?”

“Shit, fuck! Tonight? Fuck, yeah. Green. All the fucking Green. Gimme.”

They rarely play hard enough for safewords but they’d been talking for weeks about pushing Clint’s limits. Clint has a rough idea of what Phil has planned but not the details.

Phil takes his time with the knots, deliberate and precise in the way that frustrates Clint almost as it turns him on. 

“Ready?”

“Fuuuck,” Clint groans, subspace swirling around him. He’s not Down but he could be, simple as breathing, “I’ve been fucking ready. So ready. Past ready. Will you just fucking spank me, asshole?”

“Hmm... Impatient.”

“You’re the one who took forever with the rope.”

Clint is kneeling on the bed; ass high and arms stretched out in front of him, the ropes pulling him flat on the bed, and he has his head turned so that he can admire Phil’s painstaking efforts decorating his arm. The knots start just below his elbows and make their way up his spread arms to his wrists, which are secured to the headboard.

His thighs and calves are bound together, separated by a stiff column of rope keeping them the perfect distance apart. The knotwork that runs down his calves to his ankles matches his wrists and each ankle is pulled towards an opposite corner of the foot of the bed. 

The tension in the rope is in that sweet spot where Clint can test the bonds and feel secure without feeling trapped.

“Well in that case we can skip it next time.”

“Did I say that?”

“I think what you meant to say was ‘Thank you, Sir; I’m ready for my spanking, Sir’,” Clint can hear the teasing smile in Phil’s voice. 

“Well, since you’ve said it for me we can get on with it, can’t we?”

“Brat,” Phil says affectionately, rubbing Clint’s shoulders and then stroking his hands down Clint’s back his to grasp his waist, pulling him against the ropes; then continuing down to rub Clint’s ass, the rough circular motion pulling his cheeks apart, exposing his excessively lubed hole before being squeezed back together.

Clint moans, shifting against the bonds. He whines Phil’s name when he says, “Phiiiilll, do it. Come on, you know you wanna tap this ass,” he pushes his ass into Phil’s hands much as he’s able, luxuriating in the feeling of being caught short.

Phil delivers a light slap and then goes back to rubbing his sub’s gorgeous ass.

 _‘Fucking tease_ ,’ Clint thinks and even though he knows it’s bait, he bites, “Fuck you, Sir. Spank me like you mean it.”

Clint wiggles his ass, about the only movement he’s capable of and Phil gives in, smacking hard enough to make him yelp.

“Unf, yes, Sir. Like that. Just like that. Do it again.”

“Like this, baby?” Phil asks, spanking Clint’s other cheek.

“Fuck, yes. Again!”

Phil begins spanking Clint in earnest, setting up a steady rhythm of sharp smacks interspersed with rubbing away the sting. Clint’s cheeks are nice and rosy as he finally lets himself start to Slip into subspace, the long build up making it almost easy.

“Okay, just about ready to switch to the cane. You still sure about this?”

“Mmmm, yes, Sir. Help me Down?” He hasn’t quite been able to get there on his own. 

“Okay, but just a little _bit,”_ Phil says, using all of his control to keep the Order as light as possible. 

“Oh, thank fuck. Feels so good. Thank you, Sir,” he mumbles as he goes Under _._ It’s smooth like it always is with Phil, easy in a way Clint never thought he would experience. With the help of Phil’s Voice he’s already Deeper than he’s ever able to reach on his own. 

“Color?”

“Fren.”

“That’s not a color, sweetheart,” Phil says, holding back a laugh. 

“Mrph. Grrrrrren,” it’s slurred, but good enough for Phil. 

Phil has been practicing with the cane when Clint wouldn’t notice but he’s still a little nervous. He taps the spot he’s going to strike lightly, letting Clint prepare himself. The first one isn’t as hard as it should be but he would rather err on the side of caution. 

The second one is exactly where and how Phil wants it to go. 

“Oh! Oh, fuck, Sir! Shit, that’s good!” It’s sharp and bright and thuddy and it makes his toes clench and then there’s a second wave of searing pain and he thinks he might actually lose his mind as it races right up to ‘too much’ and then stops short, “Oh, FUCK,” he says, struggling against the ropes.

“Color?”

“Green. Green, Sir,” Clint’s voice has a dreamy quality; he’s Down a little further and sensations are starting to merge into one another everything becoming pleasure/pain/need/want, “Again?” This time asking, not demanding. 

Phil taps the cane again, signaling his intent before striking. 

“Ah!” Clint shouts as he jerks against the ropes. Before Phil can check in again he says, “S’good. S’good, Sir.”

Phil takes a moment to admire the darker pink lines from the welts against the flush from the spankings and then gives Clint a fourth.

“Ah!” He shouts again, and Phil lets him have another moment. He traces the marks lightly with his fingers and then bends down to press his lips to them, praising each one and Clint at the same time. 

“Beautiful. Flawless. Perfect. Mine.”

Clint shivers and whimpers, “Please,” needing more but too far gone now to know how to ask for it, “Please, Sir?”

Up until now Phil’s been able to ignore his erection, concentrating on Clint’s pleasure, but hearing his sub beg is a rare gift that goes straight to his dick (and pulls at his heart).

“Are you sure, sweetheart?” Phil won’t ask Clint to beg; in fact will only prompt it in the vaguest of ways, more to see if it’s where Clint wants to go than as any suggestion. If they try to force it it messes with Clint’s head but when he gets there on his own it’s euphoric for both of them.

Clint can’t hold on to words or their meanings, unable to tell the difference between thinking and saying; he’s not sure what what Phil asks, just that it sounds like a question, but that’s okay, it doesn’t matter, Clint’s reply to anything Phil asks of him is always going to be, “Yes, please yes, always yes, forever yes, please? Green, Sir. Please, Sir? Want it. Need it. Need, please, yes,” he pants and twists at his bindings, not wanting to go anywhere but rather wanting to feel it all as much as possible. 

“Anything, sweetheart, anything. Always,” Phil has to resist the soul deep need to use his Voice, to Submerge his sub with his Desire. He doesn’t want to use some quirk of biology to Push Clint to that place where ecstasy and agony become one and the same, he wants it to be a journey they take together. 

Phil kisses the length of each welt and Clint’s dizzy with want by the time he taps the cane to indicate the next strike. 

“Ready?”

“Yessssir,” Clint says, responding to tone more than the words.

“Aaah!” It’s too much/not enough/wait/more. Tears have started to gather in Clint’s eyes and he’s nodding ‘yes’ and begs, “Pls, ‘gain?”

“Aaah, ahh! Yell’ Sir, yell’” the strike has pushed him out of ‘too much in a good way’ and into just ‘too much’, Lifting him out of the subspace he had reached; he doesn’t want to stop but, Oh God, does he need a moment. He’s crying in earnest now, lost in his feelings and the overwhelming sensations that run through his body. 

Phil’s drive to Protect overwhelms his need to mark his submissive so that anyone who sees him will know he belongs to Phil. Hearing his sub ‘yellow’ Phil drops cane to the side, rubbing Clint’s back the way he likes when things have gotten a little too intense. “Shh, shh, I’ve got you, I’ve got you sweetheart,” touching Clint everywhere he can, reassuring Clint that Phil’s still there even though they’ve stopped for the moment. He will always be there for Clint. 

It takes a bit for Clint to recover but soon the monster inside him that always wants _more more more_ is stretching back out and digging its claws in, “‘M ready. S’go.”

Phil has his own monster that licks its chops at the thought of being able to hurt his sub more, to give him the pain he Needs and to Take his submission, but Phil is in control, not the monster and so Phil asks, “Are you sure, sweetheart?”

Clint is but he also knows it wouldn’t matter if he wasn’t, he wants _more;_ wants that feeling of Sinking closer and closer to the the riptide until it claims him, he Wants, “Yeah, but...” he pauses, suddenly unsure. 

He wants Phil to fuck him while he’s Down, but maybe it’s too much to ask. Clint always needs too much attention but when he’s Down in the depths that Phil can take him he becomes a creature of pure Need, unable to give, only able to take. 

“But what, baby?”

“‘S gonna take me Down. All th’way Down. Wan’ it. An’ then wan’ you to fuck me, Sir. Please?”

“I think I can manage that,” Phil says, his heart overfilling; he knows what an honor it is that Clint lets Phil see this side of him and he cherishes it. 

“Four m’,” Clint says, proud of having kept count (he thinks) and wanting an even ten. He knows he’s going to feel them for days and he’s looking forward to counting them over and over. 

“Four more? That many?” Phil asks, only half teasing. 

”Yeeeesss!” He hisses in frustration, “Mine! Gimme.”

That’s the Clint Phil knows and lo— knows, “Okay, but if you need to safeword and don’t I’m going to be very disappointed.”

“Proms. Will. Please? Please, Sir? Need it.”

Phil kisses Clint’s cheek, tasting tears, and whispers, “Anything for you, Clint. Always.”

Phil is as good as his word, laying the final four stripes parallel to the first six, signaling and pausing, watching his sub plummet Deeper and Deeper. 

By the time he’s through Clint is wailing and pushing back into each stroke, more than half out of his mind he yells, “Oh, yes, yes please? Fuck me. Fuck me Sir, please? Please, please, please?”

“Oh, God, _Clint_!” Phil can’t help himself, his Voice pours out of him full strength and he’s balls deep before he can even think about it.

Clint’s been reduced to animalistic noises, all whimpers and moans as Phil thrusts in and then growling savagely when he’s caught tight by the ropes, unable to chase the hot, slick pleasure when Phil withdraws. Phil has complete control and Clint can only take what he’s given. 

Phil’s no better, raking his nails down and then back up Clint’s chest, finding his nipples and squeezing and pinching while Clint tries to buck up against Phil, only to let out a frustrated groan when he gets nowhere. Phil bites Clint’s neck and, spurred on by Clint’s full throated cry, he fucks his sub hard and fast. 

Phil loses himself in it, drunk on the atavistic power of having his sub beneath him, pinned in place for his pleasure, to Use and Protect, to fill with his seed and his love, _“Mine, mine, mine_ ,” he snarls into Clint’s neck, forgetting all sense of control, punctuating each thrust with another bite. 

Clint starts shaking. He’s lost himself completely, his only guide Phil’s Voice holding him, claiming him, owning him, and he finds some semblance of words, “Please- please- please- please,” over and over, and Phil knows what Clint’s begging for and he’s ready, too.

 _“Come for me, Clint_ ,” he Orders, nearly full Voiced, _”Come for me, show me how good you feel. Fuck, you feel amazing. You’re amazing, perfect, so fucking perfect.”_

Clint’s gone, what little conscious thought he had swallowed by a perfect storm, his Need meeting his Master’s Desire as they become one together. The only thing that exists is Master’s Claim and he comes as Commanded. 

Clint’s ass throbs around Phil, the perfect tightness of it and the beauty of his Obedience setting off Phil’s orgasm; Clint’s untouched dick spills beneath him as Phil’s come fills his ass.

Once the intensity fades Phil kisses Clint’s shoulder and then pulls out carefully. Clint’s so oversensitive that even that small amount of movement has him shivering and whining, twisting in his bondage, trying to get closer to Phil, “Oh, please, please Master?” 

Phil shudders; Clint’s never called him ‘Master’ before and it floors him how much that one word makes him feel. He covers Clint with his body, blocking out the world around him, wrapping Clint in his love, in his possession; needing to Protect him, hold him, Own him, _“Mine_.”

“Yours,” Clint slurs as he’s pulled back Down into the depths of sensation. 

It takes a bit for Phil to come down from the height of his Dominance; when he does he kisses the back of Clint’s neck before getting up slowly. 

Clint whimpers softly and Phil almost breaks again, the drive to Claim filling him again sooner than he thought possible. He pushes down his Need to Take, knowing that what his sub needs now is to be brought back Up, not held Down until Phil can sate himself no more. 

But it is tempting, so tempting. 

Clint would let him. 

Not just let him, _beg_ him. 

Clint is his to Control, to Bend to his Will; to consume with his desire. 

Phil finally finds that iron core of restraint that he prides himself on, though the difficulty with which it comes makes a mockery of that pride. 

He uses one of the soft cloths he had set aside to clean himself perfunctorily before zipping his pants back up and then tending Clint with much more care and attention. 

He places a steady hand on Clint’s ankle, “Just a second, sweetheart. I have to step away to untie you from the bed but I’ll be right back.”

Clint lets out small sounds of loss, missing his Master’s touch but otherwise stays calmly in place. He’s still in that deep space where it’s all sensation, everything is perfect and he never wants to leave. 

Phil pulls the slip knots from the rings at the foot of the bed that are holding his sub in place, releasing the tension stretching his bound legs. Phil feels powerful— like he could climb a mountain, tame a lion, or conquer a small country. Fuck, right now if Clint asked he would be willing to take over the world. He releases the knots at the headboard and pulls Clint into his arms and Clint quiets down, nuzzling kisses into Phil’s throat. 

Phil threads his fingers through Clint’s hair and then gently directs him to tilt his head up so that Phil can kiss his lips, plumped and bruised from where Clint’s bitten them. 

It’s a patient kiss, slow and heavy like molasses. Phil knows that Clint will be upset if Phil unties him any further while he’s still so far Down. Clint likes to savor the slow, sensuous process of being unwrapped and so Phil contents himself with giving Clint sips of water between kisses. 

Once Clint is Up a little Phil hand feeds him a couple bites of chocolate as well. Phil kisses the taste out of Clint’s mouth and then feeds him another piece. 

After a few more minutes of being plied with water, chocolate, and kisses, Clint is a little more aware and he mumbles, “Hmm, s’good, Sir.”

“You’re good, sweetheart,” Phil says, stealing another kiss before asking, “Ready to start untying?”

“Haftoo?”

“No. We can stay like this for a bit.”

“‘Kay. Stay.”

“Yes, Sir, “ Phil chuckles.

“An’ more kisses. An’ chocolate.”

“And water.”

Clint pouts, “But kisses first.”

“As many as you want, sweetheart.”

“All ‘em.”

“Always.”

“Mine. Keep’n’ you.”

“Yours.”

Phil can’t imagine anything he could possibly want more. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know in the comments if I’ve missed any typos.
> 
> ETA: (Sorry if this is repetitive.) Now that this series is complete I’m adding in my fan space information if you want to follow me anywhere.
> 
> Since I’m not sure which fic in the series is drawing everyone in from, I’m going to c/p my info here.
> 
> It turns out I am terrible at tumblr; it used to be my main fandom space but then my brain broke and I can’t keep up with it anymore. I would still love it if you followed me, I will follow back, I always love making new fandom friends.
> 
> I’ve set up accounts at the links below, I am going to try to keep all three updated.
> 
> Twitter: @ParaprosdokiaCC  
> Ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/paraprosdokia  
> Patreon: https://ko-fi.com/paraprosdokia  
> Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/paraprosdokia (am I doing this right?)


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